


wasted time

by days4daisy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Extra Treat, M/M, Masturbation, Mistaken Identity, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-05-12 18:02:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19234306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: "Thor,” his brother says with sincerity so befitting of the captain, “I’m not Loki.”





	wasted time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [outruntheavalanche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy this treat, outruntheavalanche!

“Loki!” The name is off Thor’s lips before his mind wraps around the sight. What hole in the cell design did Thor miss? What flaw that his brother somehow exploited to stand before Thor as he now does?

It sickened Thor, even after everything, to be the one to guide Loki to his eternal fate. Thor forced himself to see the good in Father’s decision. The justice. What Loki did went beyond endangering his own life, or Thor’s. Lashing out at Thor is forgivable given what they now know. But what Loki did ended lives of innocents on Midgard and threatened millions more. He cannot walk free among what was once his home.

Yet, it was Thor who walked Loki to his cell, not their father. It was Thor who withstood Loki’s silent, reproachful glare, not their father.

And it is Thor who looks across Asgard's grand hall now at his brother. Of all things, Loki chooses a Midgardian disguise for his escape. He is not wrong to assume that a face other than his own is preferable for this task. But why not pick that of a member of the royal guard or palace staff? Why a face as recognizable as a hero of Earth?

Thor does not have the time or patience for this. There is the disappearance of the Aether to contend with, thought to be within Asgard’s lower vault. There is also the reappearance of the dark elves, not seen since long before Thor’s birth.

There is the loss of Mjolnir too. Thor believed the disappearance of his great hammer to be a test of Father’s. Perhaps Odin disapproved of Thor's failure to save all on Midgard who suffered due to Loki's revenge. Or that, even now, Thor’s heart aches for the brother he loves and misses.

Thor fears the disappearance of Mjolnir is more grave. Could this be some trickery of the elves? Or does the great hammer no longer find Thor worthy?

Unrest stirs in Thor’s breast well before he catches sight of his brother.

Loki’s eyes, in their Avenger guise, widen somewhat. But it cannot surprise Loki that Thor finds him plotting his escape. They are tethered now and always. Where Loki goes, Thor must stop him. Where Thor goes, Loki appears at his side like a bed of thorns.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Loki says in the exasperated voice of Steve Rogers.

Loki conjures different attire for the captain than his colors during the Battle of New York. Strange but understandable given how recognizable Rogers armor will be among Asgardians.

(As it turns out, Heimdall was quite thorough in his tales of the great battle on Midgard. Young and old were stirred by Heimdall’s stories of Thor's Midgardian compatriots. Since Thor's return, young warriors have made a fashion of star-spangled shields on the training yards.)

But why would Loki not transform into typical Asgardian garments? Why wear… What _is_ Loki wearing? It is a flight suit of some kind. Black, gray, and red design. Light armor plates the chest, and the rest fits skin tight.

“Thor.” Loki lifts his hands in a show of surrender. Thor's knees flex, battle-ready, and his fists ball at his sides. “Listen to me,” Loki says with the quiet honesty of the captain. “I know what this looks like, but it’s really me.”

Thor barks a laugh. “Brother, this is by far your most dimwitted scheme. Did the Hulk do more damage than we thought to you?”

 _Did_ the Hulk do more damage than they thought? Or could this be the influence of the tesseract or the scepter? Thor’s grin grows tight in the face of these new possibilities. What will it take for Thor to no longer care for his brother one day, the way Loki no longer cares for anyone but himself?

Loki’s ruse blows out a frustrated breath. “I know the Aether went missing,” he says.

“Right,” Thor mutters. “I wonder who had a hand in that.”

“It isn’t missing anymore,” Loki says. Hands still raised, he steps forward. “We can go together so you can see for yourself. The Aether is right where it was before.”

“Yes, brother, a wonderful plan.” Thor snorts. “The vault would be a marvelous place to put a knife in-” his voice catches in his throat.

Loki, wearing the guise of Steve Rogers, flips Mjolnir like the hammer weighs nothing. “I came to return this too,” he says. With a tepid smile, he holds Mjolnir out to Thor.

It takes a moment for Thor to remember to breathe. He puts out an unsteady hand.

Mjolnir's familiar power buzzes against Thor’s fingertips. With only a touch, centuries of history rise from the soil of Asgard. All-Fathers roar down from the great halls of Valhalla. Storms flood Thor's veins, and lightning at its most fierce. The ground on which this palace stands, the trees of the orchard, long grasses by the shore. Thor becomes one with everything.

Thor withdraws his hand as if burned. “You’re worthy...”

But it is impossible. Isn’t it?

Thor watched his brother, believing all asleep, scale the steps of the great throne room. Loki wound slender hands around Mjolnir’s handle and pulled with all his might. He pulled until he screamed and his fingertips bled. Mjolnir did not budge for Loki, but for Thor it sang.

If only Thor went to his brother on those dark nights. If only Thor held Loki, let him kick and scream until they were both broken. Loki was worthy in ways Mjolnir could not see, Thor always thought so. Loki was wise, funny, and powerful. What use would Mjolnir be to one of Loki’s cunning? His magic is swift and silent. His deception makes his strength all the more potent.

Thor was arrogant in those days. Though he mourned for Loki, he found satisfaction in his brother's failure. One day Thor would be king. Mjolnir was Thor’s proof, his victory written in every line of Loki’s anguish. What a fool Thor was, preening for a prize that he wants nothing less than to seize.

Yet here Loki stands now with Mjolnir in his grasp.

“Thor,” his brother says with sincerity so befitting of the captain, “I’m not Loki.”

Thor takes in the solemn gaze and the softened curl of the mouth. His eyes return to Mjolnir, extended with ease in Rogers’ hand. Emotion squeezes Thor's chest. “How- what- you’re here.”

Steven Rogers, the Midgardian war hero, on Asgard! He who defended his home with such selfless persistence. Who displayed the strength of twenty of his Midgardian fellows. Who bled and bruised yet smiled away any concern. His is a voice Thor learned to trust above all others. Rogers stands here now in Thor’s home, Mjolnir in his grasp, worthy in every sense.

“I’m here,” Rogers says. His wariness turns to a relieved smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s- yes, it is so good to see you!” Thor echoes the sentiment with a boisterous hug. Rogers stiffens against him, Mjolnir unmoving at his side.

Rogers relaxes after a moment and echoes Thor’s embrace. Mjolnir thrums from Rogers' grip against Thor’s back. It is a sensation up until now foreign to Thor. He shivers in response.

Thor eases back enough to see Rogers’ face. “What are you doing here, friend? And how? The Bifrost has not opened into or out of Midgard. Heimdall would have informed me of such matters. And your garments - is this new armor? Surely you are not tired of the warrior garb you donned when we fought side by side.”

“It’s a long story,” Rogers says. His smile turns weary.

The captain is a man of many battles. Thor, too, knows the fatigue of war and the guilt of one too many wrong paths. This weight, though, is more than Thor remembers feeling from the captain before. It is as if Rogers' years of life have taken their toll, few as those years are to Thor.

Thor cocks his head. “Do you lack the time to tell a long tale?” He offers a smile of his own. “I’ve missed your company, and I confess, I would welcome the distraction.”

Thor blinks at Mjolnir set with care in his palm. He cannot read the thoughtfulness of Rogers' expression.

“I should have known,” Thor admits. “Few can wield Mjolnir in this way. Even my brother cannot. It never once crossed my mind that one outside the royal house of Asgard would be worthy to lift Mjolnir.” He nods. “But of course it would be you. Our days together are few, but after what I’ve seen I can think of none more worthy.”

Rogers accepts the words with none of his own. He looks at Thor with the stricken gaze of one at war with himself. Thor cannot begin to guess at the cause. Rogers’ path here? The Aether? So many questions are in need of answers, but the captain's eyes ask Thor not to push the matter further.

“Stay awhile.” Thor claps a hand on Rogers’ shoulder. “I could show you to my mother’s gardens, or will you join me in my chambers? The sun will warm the outer room well at this time of day.”

Rogers gives under his hand. “I’ve missed you,” he says quietly. “I didn’t realize how much.”

Though caught off guard by Rogers' weight against his side, Thor is quick to adjust. He wraps an arm around Rogers’ shoulders. “It has not been so long since we last saw each other, has it?” Thor asks with a laugh.

Rogers turns from him, grimacing. Thor’s mirth turns to concern. “I- yes. Time is rather different between our realms. I did not intend to make light of that difference.”

“I should go,” Rogers says - mumbles, actually, in a voice so low Thor wonders if he was meant to hear it.

He frowns. “Go? How will you go? And where? Back to Midgard?”

“Something like that,” Rogers says. Thor waits in case Rogers intends to explain, but again Rogers falls mute.

In days not long-passed, Thor would have shaken the captain and demanded answers. How did he come to be on Asgard? How did he find the Aether and deliver it back to Asgard’s vault? And Mjolnir? Thor does not tolerate unspoken truths or secrets withheld in silence. Particularly now, after Loki’s imprisonment under the very ground they tread upon.

But Thor cannot raise his voice when he looks at Rogers’ face. He has seen grief, despair, and loss of hope. But Thor cannot recall seeing a weariness like Rogers’ before.

He squeezes his arm around Rogers’ shoulders. The odd garment he wears tickles Thor's fingertips. “Will you stay a moment at least?” Thor asks. “I’m unsure of when our paths will cross again. There is much violence and unrest among the realms. With the Bifrost rebuilt, I must assist with restoring order. One day, I will return to Midgard, but it may be some time.” He smiles at Rogers’ downturned face. “I’d like to see you off, if that’s alright.”

Rogers closes his eyes like he intends to say no. “Yeah, ok,” he says instead.

It feels like a monumental victory. Thor's smile becomes a grin. "This way then. Come on."

Thor is walking on clouds as he leads Rogers through the great halls of Asgard. Though the reason for Rogers’ unannounced presence remains a mystery to Thor, the fact is that he is _here_. The much-revered warrior-captain of Midgard. It is an honor for Thor to guide Rogers through his home. He speaks often while they walk, pointing out centuries-old statues. His mother’s gardens beyond the columned palace walls. The painted ceiling reciting the history of Odin All-Father. His magnanimous reign, alliances formed, his union with Frigga and the birth of his sons.

Loki's face on this painting hits like a cold weight in Thor's stomach. He and his brother should have fought side by side forever. Though Thor accepts the unfortunate turn of events, he struggles to believe how wrong life is now.

Rogers says little. He looks where Thor guides him, taking in each piece of Asgard’s history with a thoughtful gaze. But Thor’s home does not bring Rogers the joy Thor hoped it would. Never once does a smile appear on his face, or even the twinkle of an unvoiced laugh in his eyes. It is clear that Rogers’ pain is too weighty for even the comforts of a welcoming place.

“My chambers,” Thor says. He presses the door open to allow Rogers to enter first.

The rooms are a pleasant temperature despite the high midday sun. Thor leads Rogers past his bed to the stone rail overlooking the gardens.

Rogers sets a hand on it. Thor doesn’t miss the way it shivers. “You have a beautiful home, Thor,” he says.

“It is quite different from Midgard,” Thor answers. He watches Rogers look out at the gardens. “I have great affection for your world, captain. There are beauties among your planet that could never exist here. I am so pleased to know it, to have visited and walked among its wonders.” With a hopeful smile, he adds, “And I’m honored to know you, and to call you my friend.”

Rogers does not meet Thor’s eyes, which - short as their friendship is - is unusual enough to raise Thor’s concerns. Thor sets a hand on Rogers’ shoulder, squeezing it through the odd attire he wears. There is a shift in Rogers’ downturned expression, the closing of his eyes and a twitch of his mouth.

“You deserve better friends than me, Thor. Than any of us. I hope you remember that.”

Rogers’ words are strange to Thor. He plays them over in his mind, trying to work out their meaning.

“You are the worthiest of all,” Thor says with a smile. “Mjolnir is proof, yes, but I knew even before today. I have fought alongside many brave and proud warriors. But you rise when others would throw down their swords. You protect the weak and helpless with little regard for your own pain.”

“But when my friend needed me, I stayed away,” Rogers counters stiffly. “Maybe I was afraid. Or I was so determined to keep up a brave face that I didn’t think I could take seeing what the other side looked like.” He looks at Thor with pain so vibrant that Thor almost takes a step back from its rawness. “I’m not worthy, Thor. I did my best. I tried. But it wasn't enough.”

“No!” These words make no sense to Thor, and they make him angry. “Who’s called you these things?” he demands. “Who put these ideas in your head? You’ve suffered a mighty loss, I see that in you, captain. But you?” He sets both hands on Rogers’ shoulders. “You _are_ worthy. Show me who said these things to you. I will remind them of their place.”

Rogers' muted laugh is enough to warm Thor’s chest for the short time it lingers. “I’ve really missed you.”

“You don’t have to miss me now,” Thor says. He squeezes Rogers’ shoulders at the place where they meet the base of his neck. “I wish you would share this burden with me. I can help, or at least carry some of it for you.”

Rogers shakes his head. Though his refusal disappoints Thor, he is not surprised. “In that case, let me help get these foul thoughts out of your mind.” He smiles. “At least in the short time we have together.”

Rogers regards the suggestion, and him, quietly. Thor wonders if he’s somehow overstepped. If Rogers’ grief is so consuming that an offer of relief is perceived as a slight. This is not Thor’s intent, but he hates this feeling of helplessness. Rogers is in pain, there must be some way to assist him if only for a little while.

Rogers blows out a soft breath. “Alright,” he says. He reaches a hand out to graze the ends of Thor’s hair, a few strands sitting on his shoulder. Thor looks between Rogers and his hand.

Tentatively, Thor runs knuckles across Rogers’ cheek. Rogers’ eyes close. He brushes a kiss to the back of Thor’s hand.

Thor sucks in a startled breath. It is a surprise to find that this is actually what Rogers wants. Thor never considered the thought before, but it is more natural than expected.

Thor's respect for the captain is clear, but Rogers is beautiful too. Strong in body and mind, more beautiful than any of his Midgardian fellows. He is worthy of Mjolnir. Worthy, too, of happiness and relief from this heavy burden, if only for a short while. Affection warms Thor’s chest and pulls him in to close their distance. He cannot say whether the feeling is new, something born of today’s circumstances. Or did it sprout during their early meetings on Midgard. Thor’s respect for Rogers was instant. It is not so far-fetched to believe his affection was too.

Thor turns his hand, palm to Rogers’ cheek. Their lips meet in tentative greeting, warm and soft. Thor tests the waters, lips cautious but curious.

He groans at the enthusiasm with which Rogers accepts his offer. Rogers is strong enough to guide Thor until the stone rail is firmly at his back. Fingers pull on Thor’s half-braided hair. Thor growls into Rogers' mouth and hooks arms around his waist. Their bodies are so close.

Thor digs frustrated fingers into Rogers’ flight suit. “What is this thing?” he grumbles.

“Hang on.” Rogers’ voice is light of breath. “I can fix it.”

Thor was unaware that Midgardians had the ability to instantaneously change their attire. With the push of some odd button, Rogers’ garments change to clothes that are a vast improvement. Rogers is quick to shed his brown jacket, leaving a button up checkered shirt tucked into blue jeans.

“Much better,” Thor agrees.

They move together with a symmetry reserved for the most closely bound of mates. Wild thoughts fill Thor’s head. Of the swell of affection in his breast. Of love, perhaps. Of a betrothal between different worlds. Would Thor be bound to Midgard forever? His birthright handed away for the warrior-captain even Mjolnir chose? The thought makes Thor dizzy with possibility.

“You’re beautiful,” Thor breathes when he detangles himself from Rogers’ kisses. “We should have done this long before.”

“Yeah well,” Rogers smiles with reddened lips. “We’ve never been the sharpest tools in the shed, have we?”

“Sharpest tools? ...Ah! I understand.” Thor laughs. “Indeed, it has taken us time. But we've found each other at last, haven’t we?”

Rogers’ expression sobers, a tinge of sadness to his smile. “We did. We found each other.”

Rogers drapes a hand along the side of Thor’s neck. His thumb traces the curve of Thor’s throat. Thor shivers at the touch. It is one of his favorites, such effortless intimacy.

“May I have you?” Thor asks. “Whatever you ask, you’ll have it.”

Rogers shakes his head, and Thor’s hopes fall. He’s pushed too hard, been too quick to try to turn pain into the pleasure of shared company.

The unexpected scratch of Rogers’ nail buckles Thor’s knees. A moan is off his lips before he can think to bite them shut.

Rogers’ smile is small, but with a promise behind it that Thor cannot recall seeing before. “I’d like to have you instead,” Rogers suggests, “if that’s alright.”

The thought of being bedded does not upset Thor. Only, the opportunity never seemed to present itself before. There are expectations of Thor when he takes a mate even for a one night release of energy. Thor is to be king. He is a warrior-prince. The mightiest warrior in Asgard. Son of Odin All-Father and protector of the realms.

Thor thinks of his body spread across his sheets for a Midgardian. Of his limbs lax with pleasure and his thighs stretched to the point of aching for the feel of Steven Rogers.

Thor hooks a hand in Rogers’ shirt, pulling him close so fast that a few of the buttons pop free. “Have me then,” he says to Rogers’ lips. “I’m all yours.”

“You’re all mine,” Rogers agrees. If there is a note of regret in his voice, Thor pretends not to hear it.

***

Thor wakes in his chambers with the sun low on the horizon. He blinks and frowns. For the life of him, he cannot remember retiring so early. Perhaps this morning’s trip to the training yards hit him more than he thought.

Thor yawns grandly and stretches. His body feels gloriously sore. A good training session indeed. He tries to remember who his partner was this morning. It was that young soldier from the infantry ranks, wasn’t it? Darius, Ya’dril’s son. Yes, Thor will need to seek the young man out as a partner again. He cannot remember such a fulfilling training bout since Midgard.

Thor mops the sleepy stick from his eyes and arches from the mattress. A groan of surprise flattens him back down.

He finds his sheets tented in blatant fashion. What in all the Realms was Thor dreaming about? He bites his lip and rolls to grab a jar of oil from his nightstand. It isn’t often that he wakes needful as a boy sprouting to manhood.

Oiling his fingers, he descends.

Thor’s first touch is enough to tear a cry from his lips. By the gods, it has been an age since he’s woken in such a state! Thor squeezes his eyes shut, a furrow of startled pleasure between his brows. He gives up on breathing through his nose, inhales and exhales blown through his open mouth. They come with sharp, hitched whimpers and throat-tensing moans.

There is something in the air. Some scent, warm and pleasant. From the gardens, or - like a memory. A taste of something, or someone, he once knew.

Thor finishes with a gasp. His orgasm seizes him in waves, throbbing through his extremities in bewildering fashion.

He often finds release from his own hand, yes, but it is usually a methodical practice. Something that relieves tension, nothing more. His own hand is not known to bring him this intense, shattering pleasure. Thor chews his pillow to keep from sobbing loud enough to draw the guards’ attention.

Thor cannot move for a long while. He lies on his side, panting for air. His pillows carry a lovely scent too, something familiar yet never experienced. Something Thor aches for but cannot have.

Thor squirms under his sheets. He still finds himself on edge with some deeper pleasure unattained. The sensation is so intense that Thor tests his own forehead. Not feverish from what he can tell. Thor is dizzy though, and hungry for something he can’t put a name to.

In the low light of the setting sun, Thor makes out Mjolnir sitting against his stone balcony wall. Didn’t he misplace Mjolnir earlier? Thor called for his great hammer after lunch but the weapon would not answer. He assumed it must be some ploy of his father’s. Perhaps a show of dissatisfaction with how Thor handled the situation on Midgard. Or over Thor's open dissent against killing Loki in the aftermath of New York.

Yet here Mjolnir sits. Maybe Mjolnir was never misplaced. It, too, was part of Thor’s dreams. Odd.

He groans and rolls out of bed to wash himself in his raised basin. A pleasant soreness trails through his limbs.

Thor sighs, confused yet satisfied. He winds a robe around his naked body so he may stand at the stone rail overlooking the gardens.

It is beautiful, his home. Stunning and rare, yet Thor wants nothing less than to be here. There are so many places he would go if not for his impending kingship. So many things he would do.

He thinks of Midgard and his new friends. Of the destruction wrought by his family on the world he loves. Of the man of iron and his odd jokes, the assassins, and the rage monster with his kindly counterpart. He thinks of the captain too, his bravery and honor in the face of certain defeat.

Thor traces fingers along the rail. There is much to do among the realms with the restoration of the Bifrost. Thor arrogantly shirked responsibility for too long. It is his duty to lead his forces into the fray and reclaim order throughout the Nine.

Then, perhaps, Thor will allow himself a selfish diversion to Earth. He misses his new friends, and their time is so short.

Absently, Thor rubs his neck.

Thor has made so many mistakes in almost 1500 years of life. Wasting the time he has with those he cares for will never be among them again.

*The End*


End file.
